and the pelicans flying low to the water. Surely such moments as these are what we live for, what keeps us going until the next one? You share something like that with a stranger and they are strangers no longer.
In silence we walked down to the water’s edge, the white sand now stained dark by the sea — the tide was going out. I turned and looked back at where we had come from but there was no sign of Hunter’s, just the dazzling white of the dunes marching inward to be clothed by trees. I looked all down the shoreline and there weren’t any cottages to be seen from the beach. It felt as though we were the only two people on the entire island — in the entire world.
“Pretty amazing, isn’t it?” said Sam. “It seems incredible that such an eclectic bunch of islanders could get together and agree on how to conserve this island so well.”
“How does it work? Do they own the land?”
“The land was divided up into one hundred lots and each lot was sold to pay for the price of the island. They have a board of directors and a set of bylaws and each resident has one voting share. Everything is done democratically, so nobody can complain that something has been foisted on them. But it makes for some fireworks when there is disagreement.”
“You mean like the horses?”
“Yeah. Some of the islanders feel that the horses are a natural part of the island and should be allowed to procreate. They feel strongly that this is the philosophy of the island — to let things take their course.”
“But the horses are not endemic to the island?”
“No, but the islanders don’t care. The horses got here through an act of God — a shipwreck — and therefore they are a natural part of the island. Or that is their philosophy.”
“Is God a factor here?”
Sam laughed. “No more than anywhere else. I mean he always pops up, doesn’t he? Even among a group of people trained in science.”
His comment begged a question.
“Who?”
Sam laughed. “Well now, I don’t like to gossip, but our esteemed director is a devout Catholic.”
I wasn’t sure how to answer that one and he continued, “Tricky situation for her. She believes in the conservation of the island but how does she square her Catholicism to birth control for horses? Or does her religion spread that far?”
“Fortunately for her,” I said, “it’s all moot.”
“Why’s that?” Sam looked puzzled.
“Well, she doesn’t have a voting share, so there are no worries.”
“Actually, you’re wrong. She owns a cottage on the island. Bought it last year. So she is very much in the thick of things here.”
“And which side has she weighed in on?”
Sam stared at me. “Dunno,” he said gruffly, but I got the distinct impression he knew exactly what side she was on. He just wasn’t going to tell me.
chapter five
Sam dropped me off at the stairs to the mess room and, in daylight, I climbed those countless steps in a twisty turny path to the top. It was pretty impressive now that the no-see-ums were gone and I could actually see. The main building, which housed the dining room, blended in like a Frank Lloyd Wright building and was bracketed by the branches of a dozen oak trees so that it looked like a treehouse of awesome proportions. I could see our cabin down in the large U-shaped clearing, or rather the pathway to it as the trees, with their cloaks of Spanish moss, hid the cabin from view. There were six or seven pathways into the bush, presumably leading to more cabins, and the clearing was partially filled with various vehicles. When I walked in the door of the dining room it took awhile to adjust to the light.
“Cordi!” shrieked someone from the gloaming. I squinted and saw Martha waving her hands up and down and pointing to the picnic table where she was sitting. I waved back and went and got myself some breakfast. It was a full logger’s meal — bacon and eggs, hash browns, toast, pancakes, sausages. There was so much of it that I felt a little sick. I brought the plate over to Martha’s table.
“Holy crap, Cordi. Where have you been? I wake up at 5:30 and you’re not there!” She glared at me.
“Just out watching the sunrise with Sam,” I said, and the woman across from me choked on her breakfast.
Martha glanced over. “Melanie, this is Cordi, my boss.” Melanie was about nineteen years old, with a smooth, pale complexion and wild red and blue streaks in her blond hair. She was very thin, but the kind of thin that looked genetic rather than self-induced. Her cheeks were little hollows and her clothes hung loosely to her frame. I glanced at her breakfast plate. One apple and a glass of milk. Could have been worse, I thought.
Melanie was still trying to control her choking and flapped her hand around until she was able to say “Hi.”
She was staring at me closely with a look of surprise on her face, making me feel most uncomfortable. “With Sam?” she asked, her voice croaking, but I couldn’t tell whether it was from the choking or something else.
Oh, boy. Was I stepping on toes?
She recomposed herself and said, “He was supposed to meet me for breakfast, but I guess he forgot.”
I looked at my watch; 7:35. He wasn’t late by much if breakfast started at 7:30. As I started to sit down the squeak of the dining-room door alerted everyone and in walked Sam. Minus the shirt buttoned too high, and with his pant legs hanging over his boots, not tucked into them, he looked exceptionally masculine, his shirt opened to reveal a mass of curly black hair trying to escape. He nodded at us and went to get his breakfast. I looked at Melanie and she smiled back uncertainly.
“You’re the birdsong lady,” she said as Sam slipped in beside her and brushed her hand with his hand.
“That’s right,” I said. She flicked a strand of electric blue hair out of her eyes, as she moved her hand away from Sam’s.
“What do you do?” I said.
“Snakes,” she said. “Rattlesnakes.” The way she said it reminded me of Bond, James Bond. But it also sounded like a taunt.
I took the bait. “How did someone like you come to pick rattlesnakes as a research topic?”
Her answer surprised me. “I was terrified of snakes. One of my questionable friends put a snake in my bed one night as a joke. Some joke. Have you any idea what it’s like to be in bed and stretch out your feet, in that luxurious way you can only do in bed, and have this slithery creature dart over your feet?”
I was having a pretty good go at reenacting that scenario and gave an involuntary shudder. And I’m not even afraid of snakes.
“Exactly,” she said. “So choosing to work with a venomous snake seemed like a good way to control my fear.” I could think of other ways to do that — like avoiding them altogether.
“And did it work?”
“You can’t spend hours
